Dave E Jones's Locker
by The Noble Platypus
Summary: Chapter seven up, at long last! Barbossa sends Bootstrap Bill Turner down to Davey Jones's locker... and that is exactly where the half-drowned pirate ends up, in an offbeat kind of way... much to Dave E. Jones's dismay and annoyance. Please R&R!
1. There's a pirate in my locker!

Disclaimer: I don't own stuff . . . etc, etc. Sigh.  
  
This is just an idea I had last night. I'm not going anywhere in particular with it as of right now, but if enough of you like it and want me to continue I shall certainly try my best!  
  
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David Ethan Jones walked slowly down the empty hall, the slap of his sneakers on the floor echoing eerily past the uniformly closed classroom doors. Early morning sunlight lanced through the windows and dust motes swirled as he passed by. Dave E. Jones. His friends called him Davey Jones; they thought it was a riot. He wished they wouldn't; it made him nervous. He paused.  
  
"All right," he said in a quiet, meant-to-be-but-not-quite encouraging voice. "All right. There hasn't been anything in ages . . ." He wasn't comforted; the complete lack of . . . of *anything* was precisely what had him worried. He had been coming here every morning since school let out. It was already mid-way through July, and there hadn't been so much as a seashell. It was weird.  
  
David forced his feet to continue down the hall, still thinking positive thoughts: Today will be just like yesterday and the day before all the way back through June. Maybe . . . maybe it's over. Ever think of that? Maybe it got switched off somehow and I'll never have to deal with any of that crap again, and when my friends call me Davey Jones I can laugh, too.  
  
He paused once more; this time it was not because he didn't want to reach his destination but because he already had. David regarded his locker from a safe distance. Davey Jones's locker. Ha, ha, ha. His locker was indistinguishable from the other lockers; they had been painted last year, so there wasn't even any middle-school graffiti or faded, age- old stickers that could no longer be read but had never been scraped off. David inched forward, half expecting some kind of explosion to make up for its previous lack of activity. But nothing happened. With a resigned sigh, David reached forward and twirled the combination lock. 35 . . . 45 . . . 5. Easy enough to remember . . . not, David thought sarcastically, that he could ever forget it if he tried. David lifted the latch and swung open the door.  
  
Immediately he was forced to leap back as a 17th-century cannon slid out onto the floor with a deafening clunk. But it was not the cannon that David found upsetting as much as the wet and bedraggled pirate that was strapped to it. The cannon could have been rolled, with some difficulty, out of the building and into the nearby pond, out of sight and out of mind. He'd done it countless times before, usually with old pistols, trinkets, or the occasional locked chest. He had never had to deal with a live person before . . . and he had never wanted to. This was the last thing he needed.  
  
"What . . ." the pirate looked thoroughly confused. His dark eyes focused sharply on David. "Who . . .?"  
  
"My name is Davey Jones," David said, voice dripping with sarcasm, "and you have just fallen out of my locker." He raised his eyebrows. "Do you have a name?"  
  
"Bill Turner," the man said bemusedly. He looked wonderingly around the hallway, as if he had never seen anything so fascinating as a bunch of deserted classrooms, a row of empty lockers, and a rather unattractive tile floor, complete with cannon-induced gouges. Then he began to fumble at the ropes around his feet. David didn't move to help him; he was doing some very fast thinking. As soon as the pirate had climbed unsteadily to his feet, David nodded at the cannon.  
  
"Can you carry that thing?"  
  
"I suppose." The pirate hoisted the cannon onto his shoulder, stooping slightly with the weight. "But why?"  
  
"Because we have to get rid of it, that's why," David said, trying hard to keep his voice even. "It's bad enough that it gouged up the floor. Follow me; we're going out the back way."  
  
"Out?" The pirate frowned. "This isn't the afterlife?"  
  
"No, it's not. This is the middle school. The afterlife is where you go when you're dead . . . and you are not dead." David led the way to the small pond behind the school. As soon as the cannon disappeared beneath the surface, he turned to the pirate and sighed. "What am I going to do with you?"  
  
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So. what do you think? Worth continuing? Review and you will have my undying gratitude! :D  
  
~Platy 


	2. Fire hydrants! Ha!

Wow! Thanks so much for your reviews, they made me writhe with joy! *writhes* See? Well, here's another chapter . . . as I said before, I'm not entirely sure where I'm going with this, so any suggestions or ideas are welcome.  
  
Disclaimer: I own Dave E. Jones! AND his locker! So THERE! But nothing else. Sigh . . .  
  
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David turned to walk away from the pond, but the pirate didn't move.  
  
"What?" David asked, trying not to sound too impatient. He wanted to get this guy indoors before anyone noticed him.  
  
"What else have you hidden in that pond, lad?" Bill Turner asked, staring at the unbroken surface of the water.  
  
David shrugged. "Nothing much. Little stuff. It doesn't matter."  
  
"Treasure?" David frowned; the pirate looked like he was seriously contemplating throwing himself into the pond to find out.  
  
"It doesn't matter," David repeated, this time making no attempt to sound patient. "We need to get out of here, come on." The pirate turned reluctantly and followed David across the sparsely landscaped lawn. David, for his part, was keeping a close eye out, ready to shove the pirate into some shrubbery if anyone passed by.  
  
"If there's treasure in there, why don't you use it?" Bill inquired innocently. David scowled.  
  
"What am I supposed to do, take it to the local pawn shop? This is the Midwest, okay? You don't just come across doubloons around here. People would think I'd stolen from a museum . . . although," David added sarcastically, "seeing as you're a pirate, I don't expect you to blanch at the idea of stealing anything."  
  
"I don't steal, lad," Bill said airily, and David snorted. "I simply borrow from people who have more money than they know what to do with, anyway."  
  
"Right," David said.  
  
"No, seriously," Bill started to defend himself.  
  
"No, *right*," David said, grabbing Bill's sleeve before he walked into the middle of the road. "Or should I say starboard? My house is this way." David was forced to stop again as Bill Turner crouched down to poke at the asphalt.  
  
"Will you look at this?" Turner sounded fascinated.  
  
"Oh, geez," David cried in exasperation. "It's called a road. I bet they have them where you come from. Now will you get up and follow me?"  
  
"There's no need to shout, lad," Bootstrap said, straightening up. A moment later he was laughing with delight at a fire hydrant. David resisted the urge to pull out chunks of his hair.  
  
"Do I need to blindfold you?!" David snapped, hauling the pirate forward. "Honestly!"  
  
"Calm down, lad," Bill said, patting David's shoulder. "I'm sure that red thing is harmless."  
  
David closed his eyes and started to count to ten, but stopped at four because he heard a car coming. He snapped his eyes open and shoved Bootstrap behind the neighbor's lilac hedge. The pirate stared to object, but David shushed him. The car passed without incident, and David crept back out onto the sidewalk. Bill was scratching his head and gaping at the rapidly disappearing vehicle.  
  
"It's called a car," David said quickly before the pirate could speak, "and they're harmless as long as they don't see you. If you just walk quickly with me until we get to my house, you'll be safe from cars, okay?" Turner nodded slowly.  
  
The two walked quickly to David's house without any further delays, although Bill occasionally shot glances of curiosity and longing at glittery lawn ornaments. "Don't even think about it," David had growled, and the pirate had quickly looked away.  
  
"Okay," David pushed open his front door. "Mom's at work until six. Don't touch that." Bill jerked his hand away from a vase of dried flowers guiltily. David's cat, Milo, poked his head into the hall and regarded the pirate with disbelief. "That's my cat, Milo. Don't kill him or anything, all right? You can clean up in here," David poked open the bathroom door, "and I'll find you some of Dad's old clothes."  
  
"What's wrong with what I'm wearing now?" Bill looked offended. David raised his eyebrows at the pirate's getup.  
  
"Let's just say, we don't dress like that around here." David looked thoughtfully at Turner for a moment. "Your hair's a bit long, too . . . but I think if you're wearing normal clothes, you shouldn't stick out too much. Oh, and the jewelry will have to go."  
  
"What?" Bill fingered his numerous rings and necklaces and frowned.  
  
"Cars are attracted to shiny things," David lied desperately. Bill nodded with sudden understanding, and David had a hard time keeping the many sarcastic comments that drifted through his head at that moment to himself.  
  
"Where is your father?" Bill asked casually, and David stiffened. There was a long, uncomfortable pause.  
  
"He's not here," David said quietly, and the pirate didn't ask him to elaborate. "Get cleaned up." The boy motioned towards the bathroom again. Bill poked his head in the door and gaped. "Get ahold of yourself," David said, amusement creeping back into his voice. "It's just a bathroom. You can take a shower . . . see, this is the hot water and this is the cold water, and if you push in this thing the water comes out up here." David rummaged through the linen closet and tossed Bill a towel. "That's for drying off with. Now go wash and I'll find you some clothes." Bootstrap obeyed, and David breathed a sigh of relief. Milo twined around the boy's ankles, and David stooped to pet him.  
  
"How," David whispered to the cat, "am I supposed to explain this guy to Mom?"  
  
*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*  
  
Dun dun DUN!!! How, indeed?? Suggestions and ideas more than welcome! See da pwetty button? Pwess it! Pwess it NOW! :-D 


	3. Bill, meet gamecube

Oh, my gosh! Thanks so much for all of your reviews! *shakes head in pleased but slightly bewildered fashion* Well, here's the update so many of you have requested . . . I would have updated last night, but my father was doing computer stuff until one a.m. and by then I was staggering.  
  
Disclaimer: I don't own anything other than David and his locker.  
  
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David unceremoniously stuffed Bill's old clothes into the back of his closet. He doubted that his mother would brave the war zone that was his bedroom floor to look for dirty laundry, and even if she did, there were plenty of lies he could make up to excuse the clothes. He could say that they were just some old rags (which was plausible enough) or that they were for a school play or something. Unfortunately, the boy had not yet come up with a lie that would excuse a strange man sleeping on the couch.  
  
Not that Bill *was* sleeping on the couch. In order to buy himself some thinking time, David had introduced the pirate to his gamecube, and the two were getting well acquainted.  
  
"Hahaharr!" Bill cackled from the living room. "Prepare to meet your maker, scurvy scum!" The pirate was playing "The Two Towers" video game; David had picked it because it was the only game he owned with weapons that wouldn't require a good deal of explanation.  
  
David sat down at the kitchen table, head in hands, trying desperately to think of something, anything, to tell his mother. Could he pass Bill off as a distant relative? Probably not; his mother would obviously know that he wasn't anyone from her side of the family, and Bill looked nothing like David's father. In fact, David thought wryly, with his long hair and rather unruly beard, Bill looked more like a hobo than anything else. And there was no way that Ms. Jones was going to let a hobo stay in the house.  
  
"Oi! Davey! I've died again!" David jumped slightly in his chair, then stood up and walked into the living room. Bill was dressed in an old pair of levis and a sweatshirt with a picture of a beaver on it and the phrase, "It's just one dam thing after another" printed across the bottom. David thought the sweatshirt oddly fitting to the situation.  
  
"It's David," the boy corrected, taking the controller and fiddling with it until Aragorn, son of Arathorn was properly resurrected. "Da-VID." He handed the controller back to the pirate.  
  
David plopped back into his chair and glanced at the clock. It was one in the afternoon. The boy frowned; all he had really accomplished was to make the pirate look less like a complete nutcase and more like a homeless person. Not exactly what David would call progress. He traced invisible patterns on the tabletop, allowing his gaze to drift out the window and come to rest on his old tree-house. It was well-hidden by the leaves of the giant maple it was built in. David blinked and sat up straight. Maybe he wouldn't have to explain things to his mother, after all.  
  
"Hey, Bill," David began, poking his head back into the living room.  
  
"Bootstrap," the pirate said. David blinked, completely thrown. Was the pirate speaking in some kind of code?  
  
"What?" David asked, wrinkling his brow.  
  
"You can call me Bootstrap. It's me nickname," the pirate explained.  
  
"Okaayyyy . . ." David said slowly, choosing not to comment. "I'm going to go outside for a minute. Stay here, okay? I'll be right back."  
  
"Aye aye," Bootstrap saluted with a sarcastic grin, then swore a blue streak when his lapse of concentration cost the King of Gondor his life yet again. The pirate held out the controller with a pleading look on his face. "Wait, lad, can you fix this first?"  
  
*~*~*  
  
David poked his head inside the tree-house. His father had helped him build it when he was eight. He used to hang out up there all the time, but it had been nearly a year since he last been inside.  
  
The floorboards creaked as David straightened as much as the low roof would allow. He tried a few jumps. The floor held. Well, David thought, if the floor could stand a jumping thirteen-year-old, it would probably hold an inert pirate without too much trouble. Allowing himself a grin, David slipped back down to the ground and back inside. He would keep trying to think of something to tell his mother, but if five-thirty rolled around and he was still stumped, he had a backup plan.  
  
"Hey, Bi-Bootstrap, here's the deal: I'll try to think of something to tell my mom about you so she'll let you stay in the house, but if I can't think of anything, you're going to have to spend the night in my old tree-house."  
  
"Tree-house?" Bill pressed the newly-discovered 'pause' button and turned to David with a frown.  
  
"Yeah. It's outside in that big maple tree."  
  
"You want me to sleep in a tree?" Bootstrap looked deeply confused.  
  
"There's a house built in the tree," David explained patiently. "You'll be safe there . . . cars can't climb."  
  
"I see," Bill nodded slowly. "Must I go there now?"  
  
"Nah, keep killing orcs," David waved a hand. "I'll tell you when it's time to go out there." The boy's stomach rumbled. "Hey, are you hungry?"  
  
"Oh, er, no," Bill said hastily, and David raised his eyebrows.  
  
"You haven't eaten all day. You must be starved," the boy said reasonably, but the pirate was shaking his head. "Well, are you thirsty?" More head shaking. David sighed. "You must have a really slow metabolism or something, then."  
  
"Yes, that's it," Bootstrap said vaguely, un-pausing the game. David rolled his eyes and wandered into the kitchen to make a sandwich.  
  
*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*  
  
Erg . . . I know that wasn't as long, but I've been feeling a bit under the weather and am going to bed as soon as I finish here.  
  
Tinania Lindaleriel: Thanks a bunch! :)  
  
Kate: Yes he is, muahaha. It has already begun!  
  
Gwendellen Snape: Thanks so much! I'm glad you like it!  
  
Era-lynne: Thanks! Maybe his parents didn't realize the consequences of their name choice . . . or maybe, like you said, they have sadistic senses of humor.  
  
Tauremorna: Thanks! Haven't we all . . .? Well, now it is explained!  
  
Shadow Phenix: Thank you!  
  
Jehan's Muse: I love wordplay, too! I dunno if middle school is *hell* . . . it is just kinda deceptive because teachers try to make you think that what you do in MS is important, and it's not. Darn them!  
  
Kitty the drunken butterfly: I love your name! Thanks for the suggestions! I may use one of them . . . but not yet. ;-)  
  
Wanderlust: thanks so much!  
  
Onua Wingstar: Wow, thanks a bundle!  
  
Billie Jukes: Thanks! You shouldn't have to wait too much longer . . . muahaha!  
  
Whizzothecrunchyfrog: Thanks! And thanks for reviewing my other fic, too!  
  
Eclavadra Abier: okay!  
  
Truffles: thanks!  
  
There! Now I can go to bed! But first, I have one more story for you all.  
  
Once upon a time there was a little periwinkle button with 'go' written on it. The button loved nothing more than to be pressed by people. Sometimes people pressed the button, and the button was happy. But sometimes people didn't, and this made the button very sad.  
  
So don't do it for me. Do it for the button! 


	4. Mmmf mgrmm?

Thanks so much for all of your wonderful reviews! They made me smile so big that it scared my dogs!  
  
Disclaimer: see previous chapters; I'm lazy.  
  
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David checked the clock for the third time in two minutes. It was 5:01 pm. The boy scowled; he had been trying to think of a plausible lie that would excuse the pirate's presence in his house, but lately he had been doing more clock-checking than thinking. He'd gotten nowhere. But Milo had been fed and Bootstrap had advanced two levels on "The Two Towers" video game, so as far as they were concerned, all was right with the world.  
  
David thought the world currently sucked. He was stuck with a pirate, and he didn't know what to do. The big, wonderful, master plan was to stuff the guy in a tree house, for crying out loud . . . and that was just for tonight. He didn't know what was going to happen the following day or the night after that.  
  
"Why me?" David moaned under his breath, poking sandwich crumbs around his plate. "Why, why, why, why-"  
  
"David! David, I'm at level *four*!!" Bootstrap crowed triumphantly from the living room.  
  
"Yay," David said flatly. Bill didn't notice the complete lack of enthusiasm because he was too busy dying.  
  
"Damn!" Bill snapped. Luckily for David, the pirate had figured out how to restart the game himself. In order to give himself something to do other than check the time and not think, David got the pirate a glass of water.  
  
"Here," David said, holding it out. Bootstrap looked at David as if the boy had offered him a newly-hatched parakeet.  
  
"Er . . ." Bill said.  
  
"You *have* to be thirsty," David said matter-of-factly. "If you don't drink something, you're going to get dehydrated, and then you're going to pass out, and then I'm going to have a *really* hard time explaining you to Mom."  
  
"I'm not thirsty, lad," Bootstrap said, gingerly pushing the glass back towards David.  
  
"What, do pirates not drink at all?" David asked in exasperation, pushing the water back. Bill backed away from the glass slightly, as if it were a stick of dynamite or a live rattlesnake. "Sorry it's not rum, but at least it's something. Drink it!"  
  
"No!" Bill pushed the glass back.  
  
"Yes!" David frowned and nudged the glass back towards the pirate.  
  
"No, thank you!" Bootstrap shoved the glass back, and it toppled over, soaking the carpet.  
  
"Aarrrgh!" David stomped into the kitchen to get some paper towels. "Stupid stubborn pirate," he muttered through his tightly-clenched teeth. "Good thing I didn't try to give him cranberry juice." He tugged viciously at the roll of paper towels, which spun wildly in its holder and spewed out a dozen squares before the boy could react. David found himself momentarily engulfed in a blizzard of the quilted, quicker picker-upper, and had to spend a few moments spinning the roll backwards to pick up the slack. By the time he had straightened out the roll and ripped off the towels he needed, he was in a very bad mood. He stomped back into the living room and set the paper towels on the wet spot.  
  
"Sorry," Bill said meekly.  
  
"Oh, shut up," David replied. Bill looked confused.  
  
"Er . . . shut up what?"  
  
"Your mouth!" David snapped, picking up the sodden mass of Bounty and storming back into the kitchen with it.  
  
"Ah," Bill nodded, then realized that he hadn't shut up, gasped, and clamped his mouth shut. David was profoundly grateful. After a minute, Bootstrap started the game up again, occasionally making little muffled noises of triumph or disappointment when he either advanced a level or died again.  
  
*~*  
  
When 5:30 rolled around, David stomped back into the living room.  
  
"Turn that off. It's time to go to the tree house."  
  
"Mmf fmmrg mmm?" Bill inquired.  
  
"Wha-oh, you can open your mouth again." David rolled his eyes.  
  
"Oh, good," Bill grinned. "You can't explain me to your mother?"  
  
"No," David sighed. "I'll have to sleep on it. Come on."  
  
"Right," Bill stood up. David led the pirate out the back door and over to the giant maple tree.  
  
"It's right up here." David tugged on the old knotted rope that led up to the tree house. Bill was up the rope in an eye-blink. Well, David thought, he was a pirate, after all. When David poked his head into the tree house, Bill was making himself right at home.  
  
"This is nice," the pirate said, snuggling into a corner, and David got the distinct impression that Bill was just saying that to try and make up for the water spill. "Very, er . . ." Bill waved a hand vaguely, "rustic." David laughed.  
  
"I'll be back in a minute with some blankets. You should be pretty comfortable, temperature-wise. It is July, after all." David shimmied back down the rope. He was back a minute later with an armload of blankets. He tossed them up through the trap door, and Bill caught them.  
  
"Haul the rope up," David said, "and close the door. If you need me . . . well, just don't need me if you can help it. And stay up there!" David walked back into the house and collapsed on the couch.  
  
It wasn't, he kept telling himself, a half-bad plan. The only way anyone would be able to tell the pirate was up there was if he turned on a light . . . and there weren't any. The only way his mother would be able to tell from the kitchen window was if she watched very, very closely for a few minutes . . . and there was no reason for her to do that because the only person who would conceivably be up there - namely, David himself - would be inside.  
  
The front door opened, and David tried not to jump guiltily.  
  
"I'm home, honey," David's mom poked her head into the living room. "There's groceries in the car; quit playing those video games and help out."  
  
"I wasn't . . . oh, okay, Mom." David hopped to his feet, mentally scolding himself. 'I wasn't playing video games; it was the pirate who fell out of my locker this morning.' Real smooth. David grabbed a bag of groceries from the back of the car and brought them into the kitchen.  
  
"So, what have you been up to today? I hope you weren't playing video games the entire time I was at work." David's mother raised her eyebrows at him.  
  
"No. I . . . read some." David crouched down and stuffed some cereal boxes into the bottom of the pantry to hide his burning face. He *hated* lying to his mother, even though the truth was out of the question and the lie incredibly mundane. It was still lying.  
  
"Oh? What did you read?"  
  
"Harry Potter," David lied again. "I've only been playing video games since five thirty." He finished putting away the cereal and straightened.  
  
"Well, that's a first," Ms. Jones said with a sarcastic grin, and David grinned back.  
  
*~*  
  
David tossed, turned, and sighed. He was trying to sleep, 'trying' being the key word. He kept thinking about Bill, sitting up in that tree house all alone, probably scared that a car was going to sniff him out and eat him. David stared at the ceiling. The more he thought about it, the guiltier he felt. He hadn't even given the pirate any options if he needed him . . . not that there *were* really any options. What was he supposed to say, 'if you need me, hoot once like a screech owl, twice like a barn owl, and then make a noise like a dying giraffe'? But still . . .  
  
David made up his mind. He'd go see how Bill was doing.  
  
*~*  
  
It only took David a minute to creep down the stairs and slip silently out of the house. The clock on the microwave read 12:24. His mom was definitely asleep; she had to be at work early the next morning. David tiptoed across the dew-soaked, moonlit lawn, pausing only to scoop up a few small pebbles from the garden. He stopped under the tree house, pleased to note that the rope was gone and the door shut, just as he'd requested. He chucked one of the pebbles at the trap door. It clunked against the wood, bounced back, and hit David on the nose.  
  
"Son of a . . ." David hissed, rubbing his nose furiously. He stepped back and tossed the next pebble more gently. He could hear Bootstrap moving around. Why wasn't he opening the door? David was about to toss the third pebble when the door opened just a crack.  
  
"What?" Bootstrap hissed.  
  
David blinked. "I just wanted to make sure you were okay."  
  
"I'm fine!" David frowned.  
  
"Did I wake you up?" Why did the pirate sound so grumpy?  
  
"No . . ." Bill paused. David opened his mouth to ask if the pirate was all right, but was interrupted by the swish of tires on asphalt. A car turned onto David's street, momentarily illuminating the boy in its headlights.  
  
"A car!" Bootstrap threw open the door and lowered the rope. "Quick, lad!" David squinted at the car, then looked up at the pirate.  
  
At first, he thought it was just his eyes playing tricks on him from looking straight into the headlights. It almost looked (how silly!) like Bootstrap's head was just a skull, with some straggling hair still attached. Ew . . . He blinked a few times, but the illusion refused to go away. So he blinked a few more times. Nope, still just a skull.  
  
David fainted.  
  
*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*  
  
Muahahahahahaha! I know this is a wee bit of a cliffhanger, but I will update tomorrow, never fear!  
  
Era-lynne: okay, so maybe they did . . . hehe. As to your first question, I haven't decided yet. I don't think that David would want anyone to know . . . but maybe someone does anyway. Hmmm. As to your second question, next chapter!  
  
Kitty the drunken butterfly: he faints! Muaha! Poor Davey . . . so confused . . .  
  
Keika no Kaiyou: Thanks! Gosh, you really think so? *blushes furiously* And I will keep writing more *salutes*!  
  
Wheeeee . . . and remember: every time you don't review, God kills a kitten. Please, think of the kittens.  
  
~Platy 


	5. That's interesting

Hooray! Thanks so much for your reviews! Cookies for everyone! And I mean, absolutely everyone . . . unless you have allergies or something. Maybe these are allergy-free cookies. Yes, that's it! *Flings allergy- free cookies into crowd* Over twenty reviews! Gosh! Maybe I can break 40 someday!  
  
Also, I know I said that I would update yesterday, but a squirrel fried our transformer . . . or our transformer fried a squirrel . . . *shakes head* (transformers, for those of you who don't know, are robots in disguise) and anyway we lost our power for quite a while.  
  
Anyway, usual disclaimers apply, and on with the story!  
  
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Chapter five: That's interesting  
  
David awoke a short time later and immediately wished that he hadn't.  
  
He was up in the tree house. Bootstrap must have hauled him up there after he fainted . . . and he had fainted because Bootstrap . . . oh no . . . David sat up and scooted backwards into a corner, regarding the pirate with terror. Bill, for his part, was sitting in a dark corner, looking perfectly normal.  
  
"That was a close one, lad! That car nearly got you!" David pointed a trembling finger at the pirate.  
  
"You . . ." David choked out. "You . . . skull . . . head . . . thing . . ."  
  
"Ye-es," Bill said slowly, looking guilty. "Yes, I can explain about that."  
  
"Explain?!" David tried to scoot back further, but since he was already wedged tightly in the corner, all he was really doing was scrabbling his feet on the floor. He did not want an explanation. He wanted the pirate to disappear in a puff of smoke, never to be seen again. He wanted his stupid, stupid locker to never have started spewing out pirate artifacts. He had also, to be perfectly honest, wanted the skull- head thing to have been a trick of the light, not an actual, factual thing that required explanation.  
  
"I'm not going to hurt you, lad," Bill said gently.  
  
"Skull . . . thing . . . *you* . . ." David said helpfully, flapping his hands.  
  
"Well, as I said, there *is* an explanation," Bill said patiently.  
  
"Like what?!" David snapped, starting to regain control of his mouth.  
  
"Well," Bootstrap sat back and sighed. "I am, or I used to be, part of the crew of The Black Pearl, a pirate ship. Our captain, Jack Sparrow, wanted to find this island where there was supposedly a great treasure. The first mate, fellow by the name of Barbossa, decided he wanted the treasure all for himself, and the rest of us went along with him."  
  
"You mutinied," David said flatly, and Bill nodded.  
  
"Aye, we did. And after getting the location of the island from Jack, Barbossa dumped him off on some desert island and left 'im to die." Bill scowled. "Scummy thing to do. And I told him so! But I'm getting ahead of myself. So, we dumped Jack off on that island and headed to Isla De Muerta. And we found the treasure. And we took it all." Bootstrap paused. "It took us a while to figure out that it was cursed. The more we spent it, the more we began to notice the changes. Food and drink didn't satisfy us. And when we stood in the moonlight . . . well, I'll show you."  
  
"Oh, you don't have to," David hastily began to object in a voice several octaves higher than usual. The pirate ignored him.  
  
Bill stretched a hand out into the large square of dappled moonlight on the floor of the tree house. But wherever the moonlight touched him, instead of looking like a normal (more or less) solid person, he looked like a skeleton. David's stomach lurched unpleasantly.  
  
"That's interesting," the boy said weakly, and Bill snorted, pulling his hand back.  
  
"Don't waste any pity on me," Bill said. David resisted the urge to say, 'I wasn't about to' as Bill continued. "We deserved what we got. And when we found out that we had to gather up all of the old coins in order to break the curse, I sent one of them to my son. We should have stayed cursed for what we did, stealing the treasure and marooning Jack and all."  
  
"Well, I think I can guess the rest," David said after a short pause. "Barbossa didn't like your attitude, so he strapped you to that cannon and sent you down to my locker."  
  
"Yep." Bootstrap shrugged.  
  
"So not only," David said slowly, "are you a pirate, you a cursed, un- dead pirate."  
  
"Yep." Bootstrap shrugged again.  
  
"I hate my life," David groaned, looking up at the roof.  
  
"At least you've got one," Bootstrap pointed out.  
  
"Shut up." David scowled. He slipped down out of the tree house. He would have to check his locker tomorrow. He'd bring the pirate with him. Maybe there was some way . . . could it work backwards . . .?  
  
David crawled into bed, closed his eyes, and failed to fall asleep.  
  
*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*  
  
Hmmm . . . as I said before, ideas and suggestions are welcome. Press the handy-dandy review button and will give you Orlando Bloom, conveniently shrunk down to pocket-size, so you can take him with you everywhere! All you have to pay is $5.95 for shipping and handling! Especially handling, bwahahaha!  
  
P.S. If you wish, I will also include a magic remote-control, so that you can make him grow and shrink at will!  
  
P.P.S. Not *that* way! Geez, get your minds out of the gutter, people!! *shakes head in disgust*  
  
QueenFrosteen: Yes, the kittens! Bwahaha! Thanks! And I don't *think* so . . .  
  
Billie Jukes: Wow, thanks! *bows* And I totally understand. I wish my parents would drag ME on vacations. Grumble . . . anyway, thanks so much!  
  
Kitty the drunken butterfly: Yes, yes, we shall see . . .  
  
midnights shadow: Thanks a bunch! Wow! I'm not sure where this is going, either. *sighs* But more surprises, definitely . . . bwaha.  
  
Don't forget to do your civic duty and review! :)  
  
~Platy 


	6. Where did he go?

Aaargh! I know I haven't updated in forever and a day . . . very sorry about that. I have been concentrating on other stuff, like monosyllabic parodies. :D Thanks so much for all of your reviews! They're very inspiring!  
  
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"Come on," David said, staring up through the tree-house's trap door at Bootstrap's confused face. "We're going."  
  
"Where are we going, lad?" Bootstrap asked, swinging down the rope and landing in front of David, looking misleadingly solid.  
  
"Back to my locker," David said, shoving his hands in his pockets to ward off the early morning chill.  
  
"Why?" Bill asked, looking confused.  
  
"So I can shove you in, shut the door, and hope that you go back to wherever the heck you came from!" David snapped, scowling. "That's why!"  
  
"Ah," Bootstrap said, looking a little bit hurt. David felt a rush of guilt, but squashed it ruthlessly. The bottom line was, Bill had to go back to his home . . . wherever and whenever that was. He couldn't stay here. David couldn't take care of him, and any adults who met the pirate would think he was crazy for claiming to be from a different time period. And even if an adult believed Bootstrap's story, they'd probably just stick him in a lab or something. Or, even worse, they'd find out about David's locker. That was the absolute last thing he needed: a bunch of scientists opening and closing the darn thing, asking him questions. David's scowl deepened. All he wanted was a normal life. Why did this have to happen to him?  
  
"Are you all right, lad?" Bootstrap asked, peering at David. The boy blinked, his internal pity-party interrupted.  
  
"I'm fine," David said shortly.  
  
"You don't look fine," Bootstrap said, looking at David with an infuriatingly understanding expression.  
  
"And you don't look normal," David retorted, "which is why we have to get you out of here. Now come on, we're wasting time." With that, David spun on his heel and strode off towards the school, with a somewhat bewildered Bootstrap in tow.  
  
The journey to the middle school was thankfully uneventful; they didn't even see a car. There were several occasions when David had to drag Bootstrap away from a stop sign or a mailbox that he was examining with great interest, but there were no diving-into-the-shrubbery emergencies.  
  
They entered the eerily silent middle school, David keeping an eye out for janitors. They walked past principal Hobb's office, then up the stairs to David's locker. David glanced at Bootstrap, and suddenly realized that if his idea worked, Bootstrap would end up in the 17th century wearing jeans and a sweatshirt.  
  
"Shoot," David muttered under his breath.  
  
"What?" Bootstrap asked, looking quizzically at David.  
  
"Nothing," David sighed. He wasn't about to turn around and go all the way back home just to pick up a pile of rags, anyway. David stood in front of his locker and sighed again. Then he turned to Bill. "You should probably stand back," he advised. Bootstrap darted a nervous glance at David's locker and stood well off to the side. Flinching slightly, David twirled the combination lock, jerked open the locker, and leaped back.  
  
Nothing.  
  
Bootstrap gave David a disappointed glance. "Is that it, lad? I expected somethin' interesting!"  
  
David had breathed a quiet sigh of relief when nothing had emerged. Now he looked at Bootstrap with a raised eyebrow. "So sorry to disappoint you." He held the door back and motioned towards the empty, metal interior. "Hop on in."  
  
"What?" Bootstrap backed up a pace, looking nervous again. "Why?"  
  
"Because it's the only way I can think of to get you back home! Now get in!" David snapped, glaring at the pirate. "Come on, we haven't got all day!"  
  
"Er . . ." Bootstrap inched towards the locker. "Are you sure it's safe?"  
  
David rolled his eyes and shifted his weight impatiently. "Well, it's not going to kill you, is it?"  
  
"Well . . . no. Damn." Bill sighed, then climbed into the locker with a huge show of reluctance. As soon as the pirate was crammed fully inside, David shut the door, expecting a flash of light or a rumble of thunder, or *something* to show that it had worked.  
  
What he got was a minute of silence, and then a nervous cough.  
  
"Davey? I don't think it's working," Bill said, his voice muffled. "Can you let me out?"  
  
David seriously considered turning around and running. He would go home and forget it ever happened. Then again . . . if the locker hadn't sucked him back now, he doubted that it would in the future. He'd have to let him back out eventually.  
  
"Davey? David, sorry . . . are you out there?" Bootstrap started thumping on the door as vigorously as his cramped condition would allow. David sighed heavily, then stepped forward and let Bootstrap out.  
  
"Whew!" Bill staggered forward, brushed himself off, and gave David a shaky grin (which David didn't return). Bootstrap looked over David's shoulder, then nodded. "Who's yer friend?"  
  
"What?!" David spun around, eyes wide.  
  
"I didn't *think* it would work that way," said the girl leaning against the opposite wall. She smirked at both of them, and David felt a mixture of fear, anger, and resignation. It was Becca Bradstreet. Wonderful. Note the sarcasm.  
  
Becca was one of the quiet smart girls. They kept to themselves unless, of course, they were correcting the mistakes of their classmates. Some of them may have been nice, but since they were so quiet most of the time, they all came across as huge know-it-alls.  
  
"How long have you known?" David asked quietly. Becca shrugged.  
  
"You have pirate artifacts spewing out of your locker, 'Davey.'"  
  
"I never open it during the school year!" David folded his arms and glared at her. It was true. He had always kept his books at home, partially to avoid having to open it in public, and partially to keep his notes from being destroyed by seawater.  
  
"Yeah," Becca said, raising an eyebrow, "I noticed."  
  
"Do you know this lass?" Bill asked, poking David.  
  
"Yes, Bill, I know who she is," David snapped impatiently.  
  
"Well, then, a gentleman would make some introductions," Bill said. Becca grinned, and David seethed.  
  
"Yeah, David, be a gentleman!" Becca taunted, snickering.  
  
"Bill, this is Becca," David said through gritted teeth. "Becca, this is none of your business. Come on, Bill, let's go." David turned to leave.  
  
"Oh, so now you're just going to leave?" Becca scrambled to catch up. "No way! You have a real, live pirate in your possession," she missed the significant glance that Bill and David exchanged at the word 'live,' "and I want in!"  
  
"What do you mean, 'in'?!" David asked as they descended the staircase. "This isn't a secret club that you can just join or something!"  
  
"Well, why not?" Becca asked, sticking to them like a leech. "The order of the secret pirate! It would be fun!"  
  
"Have you snapped?!" David asked, incredulous. Bill was watching the conversation like a man watching a tennis match, his head whipping back and forth.  
  
"Okay, so I was joking about the club. But seriously, you can't hide a pirate by yourself. I could help."  
  
"I don't want your help, thanks," David said flatly, pushing his way out the front doors.  
  
"I don't care if you want it or not, you *need* it! Or do you plan on putting him up in your tree-house for the rest of the summer?"  
  
David stopped in his tracks and glared furiously at Becca. "Have you been spying on me?!"  
  
"I've been observing," Becca said primly. David rolled his eyes. "Oh, fine, so I've been spying! Who wouldn't?! A *pirate* fell out of your *locker*!"  
  
"And how many people have you told?" David asked coldly.  
  
"I haven't told anyone, for your information!" Becca huffed.  
  
"Good," David said with a fake smile, "don't! Ever! Bye!" David stormed back toward his house, Becca trailing him. She continued to pester David all the way back to his house. David ignored her, while Bootstrap didn't make a peep.  
  
David started up his driveway, then froze. His mother's car was in the driveway. Bootstrap would freak! David whipped around to reassure the pirate . . . but the pirate was nowhere to be seen.  
  
"Where did he go?!" David glared at Becca, who looked around in a mixture of confusion and slight embarrassment.  
  
"I don't know."  
  
*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*  
  
Dun dun DUN! Yeah, a cliffhanger, I know. Hey, at least I updated! :P  
  
Mercedes McCaughey: Thanks! Poor Bill, indeed. :P  
  
ElvenPirate41: Wow, thanks for all of your reviews! :D If you do start calling your locker that, you should get some interesting looks . . .  
  
Shag a lizard: Hehe, I think David's an only child. Sorry! :D  
  
Purplestainedglass: Awww, thanks! Here's your update!  
  
Raven185: Hehehe, thanks! I updated!  
  
Daisy Summers: Thanks!  
  
PhilosopherCat: Yay! Glad you like it! This is the first POTC fic you've ever read? Wow! What a coincidence; it's the first one I ever wrote! :P  
  
Kawaii Elf Girl: Yes, it would be freaky, and no, you can't have a bone! Bootstrap needs them! :P  
  
Ooktavia: Hmm . . . I'm not a big coffee drinker; thanks for the offer, though! Sorry this update took forever!  
  
Whizzothecrunchyfrog: You enjoyed them! Yay!  
  
Billie Jukes: I apologize for my updating tardiness! And I don't even have a spiffy excuse, I just got distracted. :-( Bad Platy! (smacks self) Thanks a bunch! But it didn't work in reverse, unfortunately.  
  
Normal human being: Hehe, you don't have to have Orlando Bloom if you don't want him! I'm just glad you're reviewing!  
  
Huckling: Why, thank you! Hmm . . . not sure how I *could* bring more people from the movie in . . . I'd have to think about that one. (wanders off to think)  
  
Steve: Thanks! Heh, sorry this wasn't very soon . . .  
  
Muccamukk: Hehe, thanks! And as to the whole time-travel thing . . . the way I see it is, time is a big spiral thingy, and instead of moving *forward*, Bill moved *sideways*. So for him, the curse hasn't been broken yet. Did that make any sense at all? Oh, btw, here's a mini Johnny Depp, just for you!  
  
Child of a Pineapple: Thanks! Mucho thanks, hehe!  
  
Meee: Thanks a bunch! Stop being dirty! DIRTY!!!  
  
Shadow Phenix: Thanks bunches for your reviews! Glad you're enjoying it!  
  
Ceanen: Well, David's only thirteen . . . so he makes up words! Glad you like the idea and everything! (blushes furiously) Thanks so much!  
  
Tinania Lindaleriel: Aww, thanks a ton!  
  
Midnights shadow: THANK YOU! Gosh, you all are so nice to me! :D  
  
Jewel: Thanks! I did . . . it just took me a while!  
  
Era-lynne: Thanks for your reviews! Yep, someone noticed! And this chapter was a bit longer than usual, wasn't it?  
  
Prd2bAmerican18: (sings) And I'm proud to be an American, where at least I know I'm free, and I won't forget the men who died, and gave that right to me . . . (stops) Whoa, sorry. Got a bit carried away there. Glad I'm amusing you! :P  
  
Hellsangel26: Erm . . . so, should I change my summary? :P Glad you liked it! Hee, I'll get on that whole curse thing . . . though I'm pretty sure there's nothing David can do about it . . . hmmmm . . . and I didn't send Bill back! Of course, I didn't have them both get sucked back, so . . . meh. (shrugs) Thanks!  
  
Kitty the drunken butterfly: I remember playing with transformers when I was little . . . anyway, sorry about the wait!  
  
Wow, I got 26 reviews! Note to self . . . always wait several months between postings . . . hehehe, just kidding.  
  
Review, please!!! Once again, sorry about the wait!!!!  
  
~Platy 


	7. Impending Doom

Well, I know it's been ages and ages since this was updated, and I apologize. Anyway, I just felt inspired to work on this one, so yeah. I don't own Pirates of the Caribbean. But I do own David! And Becca.

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David spun on his heel and sprinted back towards the middle school maybe the locker had somehow sucked him back, maybe

"David! Slow down!" Becca scrambled to catch up.

David ignored her. The important thing was finding Bill, not catering to the whim of some girl who had been _spying_ on him for the past who-knows-how-long if David hadn't been so worried about the stupid pirate, he would have been seething.

His sneakers rhythmically slapped the asphalt as he rounded the corner onto school property. His eyes roved desperately around, looking for any sign of the pirate, and finding none wait.

David screeched to a halt, and Becca slammed into him from behind, causing both of them to go down in a heap. The boy picked himself up, not even acknowledging the girl, and walked dazedly towards the small pond.

Bill strode cheerfully out of the water, whistling to himself and lugging a treasure chest David recognized from first quarter of last year. He dumped it onto the lawn next to a growing pile of all the artifacts David's locker had ever disgorged, and then turned around and calmly strode right back into the water until he was completely submerged.

David's jaw dropped. He wasn't sure whether he should feel relieved that he had found the pirate before anyone else had, or angry that said pirate was currently doing his level best to expose the secret David had been keeping for years.

'Well, it isn't like you've been the most successful secret-keeper the world has seen, anyway,' his mind commented as David glanced at Becca. The girl was still breathing heavily, and looking at the pond as if she'd seen a ghost.

Bill reemerged, this time with a long string of pearls in one hand and a small golden idol in another. He noticed David and Becca for the first time and waved cheerfully. "Oy, Davey, will yeh look at all this? Why didn't you tell me all this was here, eh?"

David's mouth opened and closed silently like a fish for a few moments, then the boy swallowed and found his voice. "Maybe because I knew that if I did, something like THIS might happen!!" He pointed sternly to the growing pile of booty.

"Ah," Bill looked slightly guilty, but visibly shrugged it off. "But David, lad, it doesn't do much good sittin' down there at the bottom of that pond, now, does it?"

"Do you honestly think it'll do me good having it all OUT of the pond?" David asked, trying not to lose it completely.

"Well, of course!" Bootstrap smiled winningly, and David sighed heavily. The pirate tossed the idol to David, who caught it. David sighed down at the little statue - third quarter last year - and chucked it right back into the pond.

"What was that for?!" Bill frowned at the growing ripples. "Now I'll have to go back for it"

"You will do no such thing," David said coldly. "Now help me put all of this stuff back."

"Jeez, David," Becca crouched down, poking through the pile of treasure. "All of this stuff came out of your locker? And you just chucked it into the _pond_?!" She straightened up and raised her eyebrows.

"Exactly!" Bill grinned and threw a dripping arm around Becca's shoulders; the girl yelped and twisted away as the pond water started to soak the back of her shirt. "Here's a girl with 'er priorities straight!"

"What am I supposed to do with it, Becca?" David snapped, and Bill's smile slowly faded. "If I show it to anyone, they'll just assume I stole it from somewhere!" He started lugging one of the treasure chests back towards the pond. "It's all more trouble than it's worth!" The chest plunked back into the water, sinking out of sight. "And I think it's pretty clear that I have enough to deal with right now, in case _you_ didn't notice," David finished, glaring pointedly from Becca to Bootstrap and back.

Becca had been staring wide-eyed at David throughout his entire tirade, but now she blinked, shaking off her momentary stupor. "All the more reason for me to help you!"

David could hardly believe his ears, which were rapidly filling with the sound of his own blood roaring through his veins. His face screwed up in rage as he screamed, "YOU! ARE! NOT! HELPING!" He stood there for a moment, fists clenched, chest heaving, glaring furiously at the pirate who had seriously screwed up his already abnormal life and the girl who was only making things worse. "NEITHER OF YOU ARE DOING _ANYTHING_ TO MAKE MY LIFE EASIER, AND IF THAT COMES AS A _SURPRISE_ TO EITHER OF YOU, THAN YOU ARE NOT _ONLY_ A PAIN IN MY ASS, YOU'RE _STUPID_ TO BOOT!"

Becca blinked a few times, and David wondered if she was going to cry. He almost _hoped_ she would. At least he'd feel like he'd gotten through to her.

Clearly, it wasn't David's day. Becca shook her head, brown pigtails bouncing, then stooped over and picked up a glass carving of a horse. She carried it over to the water's edge and lobbed it in. After watching it sink, she turned around to look at David and raised her eyebrows. "I'm helping you now," she said calmly as she walked back to the now shrinking pile of artifacts.

Bill had sighed at the loss of his only ally, and now hefted a sizable chest and lugged it to the pond, chucking it in. Then he turned his deep brown eyes towards David, his brow furrowing in concern. "There's an awful lot o' swag down there, Davey. Are you sure about this? You could be a very rich young man."

"It's David," the boy replied. "And if I wasn't sure, I would have cashed in a long time ago, don't you think?"

The pirate lifted a shoulder in response, and the three managed to have everything back in the pond in a matter of minutes. As soon as the last handful of coins had disappeared out of sight, David turned to the pirate and repeated the question he had asked twenty-four hours before.

"What are we going to do with you?"

Bill shrugged helpfully.

"You're soaking wet," David added for good measure. "And there is no way we'll be able to sneak you into the house without my mother noticing. She's probably already wondering where I am." He glanced at Becca. The last thing he wanted to do was ask her for help but she was already involved. Might as well try to take advantage of that unfortunate fact. "What about your house?"

Becca blinked in surprise when she realized he was serious, then a pleased smiled flitted across her features. She composed herself and shook her head. "Sorry my mom stays at home. And there's my sister as well."

"Lovely," David muttered.

"Well, let's just head back towards your house and see what happens," Becca suggested with the optimism of someone whose problem it wasn't.

"Let's just walk on back," David restated flatly.

"Yes," Becca nodded.

"With a dripping wet pirate."

"Naturally."

"To see my mother."

"Mm hmm," Becca grinned.

David stared. "You're crazy."

"Well," Becca said, "this whole situation seems pretty crazy to me. Might as well you know"

"What? Go crazy now to save time?!"

"I was thinking more along the lines of just embracing it, but whatever floats your boat." She grinned brightly.

David looked at Becca for a long moment. "I hate you."

"Look, what are you going to do?" Becca raised her eyebrows, hands on her hips. "You can't leave him. You can't hide him anywhere. Your mother's going to find out about him eventually. Might as well make it sooner than later." David didn't respond. Becca sighed and rolled her eyes. "Come on Bill, is it?" Becca turned and started heading back towards David's house. Bill looked from David to Becca a few times, then shrugged again and started following her towards the street.

"Hey!" David ran to catch up and smacked Bill on the shoulder. "Who's side are you on?!"

"Well, this Becca seems to know what she's doing."

"Yeah, _seems_ being the key word, here!"

"Oh, lighten up, David. I'm sure I'll be able to think of something by the time we get back to your house."

"Like what?" David mimicked Becca's voice. "'Hi, Mrs. Jones, did David tell you that our school just started an adopt-a-hobo program?'"

"He does look kind of hobo-ish," Becca observed with a giggle.

David glowered. "Again with the not helping."

"What is a hobo?" Bootstrap asked.

"A homeless person," David snapped. "With no job and no money."

"Ah."

"Wait." Becca stopped in her tracks, looking thoughtfully at the pirate. "Maybe we can do something about the hobo-ish-ness." She drummed her fingers on her chin, then her face split into a grin. "Yeah. Detour!" She turned and started marching purposefully back down the street. Bill and David both followed bemusedly.

"What's the big idea?" David asked, masking his curiosity with annoyance.

"We're going to make your pirate a bit more presentable before we introduce him to your mother, that's what," Becca replied.

"How?"

"Well, a haircut, for starters." Bill jumped at the word 'haircut' and fingered his long, black locks nervously.

"A a what, did you say?" he asked tremulously. The children ignored him.

"I don't have the money for a haircut! Do you? And even if you do, he'll probably scare the stylist!"

"He doesn't scare me," Becca said evenly.

David gaped. "YOU'RE going to cut his hair?!"

"His beard, too," Becca nodded. "He'll look much nicer clean-shaven."

"Do you even know what you're doing?" David asked incredulously. Bill was monitoring the conversation with an expression of increasing horror on his face.

"Sure," Becca waved a hand airily. "I used to give my dolls haircuts all the time. Course, they usually turned into crew cuts in the end"

_"What?!" _David stopped dead.

"What's a crew cut?" Bill asked urgently, eyes wide.

"Never mind!" Both children chorused as David resumed walking.

"But it sounds important!"

"Never _mind_, Bootstrap!"

"Anyway, I'm sure I could give him a decent cut. And just about anything would be better than what he has now." Becca fell back to walk beside the pirate and looked critically at his hair. "Look, there are beads and things braided into it! I mean, beads are all right if you're a teenage girl who just got back from Jamaica, but if you're a grown man"

"Other people braid things into _their_ hair," Bill argued, fingering a feather in dismay.

"Don't be stupid; they do _not_," David said, rolling his eyes. "At least they don't _now_."

"But"

"Don't worry, Bootstrap," Becca smiled winningly up at him. "I'll do a great job, and you can even save the beads and feathers and things if you wa- wait, is that a _bone_?! Okay, _that_ is getting chucked, but anything else that's reasonably sanitary you can keep."

"But"

"Are you _sure_ that you can give him a decent haircut?" David looked doubtfully at Becca.

"I'm pretty sure, yeah."

"How sure is pretty sure?"

"Pretty darn."

"Oh, god!" Bootstrap moaned, burying his face in his hands.

"It'll be okay, Bill!" Becca patted the pirate's still-damp arm. "You'll be a regular stud muffin, I bet!"

"You're on," David muttered to himself. Becca either hadn't heard him, or did an excellent job pretending she hadn't heard him.

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Bleh, I'm exhausted. Just wanted to get this out there. Overnight shifts are bad for me so bad anyway, huge HUGE thanks to all of my reviewers, especially the ones that politely told me to get my rear in gear (you know who you are). I honestly didn't mean to leave this sitting for so long. Thanks for being patient and sticking with me!

Platy


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